Phoenix Down
by Tetractys
Summary: Irrevocably changed in his final battle with Voldemort, Harry sacrifices himself to stop the Dark Lord and ends up falling through the Veil. Ending up in a strange world with stranger magics at work, Harry is thrust headlong into a new war and a new destiny. Gen.
1. Prologue

It's been over three years since I've really written anything, and I hope this little story will be the start of an adequate foray back into writing. I can't make any promises when it comes to consistent updates, plain and simple. I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.

 **This prologue is non-essential to the story** , but it does fill in a few gaps that may otherwise confuse anyone who skips it. This is actually supposed to be an excerpt from an encyclopedia set in this story's world, so please ignore the heavy and scientific prose. I will be taking excessive liberties with stretching canon to the limits.

As a general warning, this story will not be focusing on any romance—just adventure and the wonders and hazards of exploring a new world. Expect canon-level violence. I will point out when to expect any heavy subjects or scenes of a graphic nature. Further, my only personal experience with FFVII is Crisis Core and Advent Children; everything else is from other fanfic and wiki articles. Let me know if there are any glaring canon errors, or if you just want to drop a line. Please enjoy.

* * *

Prologue

To say that a phoenix is immortal would be incorrect. Rather, the bird purges itself with fire and reverts back to a chick or egg during times of grave danger, stress, or old age. As such, the phoenix is quite capable of dying (under unique circumstances), and this specialized defense mechanism is utilized only in times of convenience.

Unfortunately, this ability is double-edged. While from the outside perspective it appears to be a useful device, it is actually detrimental to the species as a whole. Phoenixes are capable of propagation, but due to the nature of this "fire purging," the birds rarely copulate, as the birds are incapable of taking a sexually mature form and are in fact vulnerable to predators. This has lead to a slow yet steady decline in their numbers, leading to near extinction. Current populations in the world account for less then fifty as of 2019. The birds are a flighty and isolative sort. It is rare for phoenixes to stay in groups, or so careful observation has indicated.

It should not be confused that the firebirds are a species of exceptionally powerful intellect, though they are still quite smart in comparison to other creatures, magical and mundane. Notions of telepathy or other forms of higher communications have been thoroughly disproven. Instead, the birds rely on tactics of a more fundamental (and subtle) level.

[For more information on "telepathy", see section 3.1: "Mental Magics".]

In order to survive, a phoenix uses several tools of self-preservation outside of its "fire purging." The first, and most widely known, is the Phoenix Song. The calming attributes of the bird's singing helps to quell predators and disgruntled chicks alike. This sets the stage for its second tool: low level empathy. Thoughts are a difficult and complex construct to pass from one mind to another, let alone between different species. Emotions are lighter and less weighed down by logic and reason, and thus can be quickly shared.

Therefore, the belief that phoenixes innately understand human speech is a misconception, as phoenixes cannot comprehend language. Instead it is through a calculated response that the birds may predict what would best fit the given situation.

The mental capacities of the bird are not the only traits well known to this species. Phoenixes are also capable of great physical prowess. On average it is estimated that a single adult bird can carry over two hundred twenty kilograms in unencumbered flight, which can reach up to sixty-five kilometers per hour.

Phoenixes are able to travel vast distances not only through normal flight but also through a means of teleportation. With similar limits seen in Apparition, phoenixes can only return to places they have previously occupied and cannot teleport to places they have not been to. Humans who have used this form of transportation have remarked that instead of a feeling of tight compression, it more resembles being expanded into tiny particles and snapped back into one piece at the other end.

Another famous attribute of the phoenix is its 'curative' tears. Used in its pure form, the tears can instantly cauterize and close any wounds (of the proper size correlating to the number of tears) and nullify poisons. Though not to be considered a cure-all, the tears have, in fact, no actual healing properties whatsoever. They are imbued with the same fire used in the regressive phenomenon linked to all phoenixes. Or at the very least, the tears imitate this action of reverting to previous states such that when making contact with a wound, the tears revert the flesh to a previously healthy condition.

Furthermore, experiments on amputations have disproven that the tears can restore destroyed flesh. Most notable, the tears cannot make any regeneration or recovery, connective or otherwise, from mental trauma or disorder. Due to a level four breach of code of the Magical Remediations Clause of 2021, "any experimentation on the nature of [phoenix tears] in relation to the soul has been placed under indefinite moratorium."

[For more information on "phoenix tears", see section 8.5: "Esoteric Potions Ingredients".]

This information pertaining to phoenixes are held in agreement among the academic community. Comparing wild firebirds and those that have been tied to humans through magical bonds or domestication, it still held as credible. There are no significant irregularities in the disposition of the birds of either background. There have been no similarities between these traits and those of a phoenix patronus, discounting the parallels of the human's personality. The patroni rarely take the form of magical creatures, but when it does occur, none of the magical abilities are shown to exist on any perceivable level.

[For more information on "animal domestication", see section 4.5: "Magical Animal Relations and Husbandry".]

[For more information on the "Patronus Charm", see section 9.7: "Level Six Charms".]

On another matter entirely, there is one case of astounding accomplishment.

"On the night of 2 May 1998, in the [redacted] of the Department of Mysteries, Harry J. Potter managed to successfully perform the animagus transformation into a phoenix. Little was recorded during the Battle of Hogwarts and when the fighting [redacted] moved to the Ministry of Magic, [redacted]. The former Dark Lord Voldemort had [redacted]. All attempts in retrieval or communications have failed, and the Unspeakables have stipulated that no connection would ever be successfully made."

[For more information on "Battle of Hogwarts" _et al_., see Book 3, section 7.8: "The Second British Isle Wizarding War" of _The Modern Magical Encyclopedia_ by Professor Hermione Granger-Weasley, Order of Merlin 1st Class.]


	2. Chapter 1

Alright, before you begin, I need to let you know that the _tribulations_ Harry goes through will dramatically alter how he thinks and acts when he travels to Gaia. Take everything you read with a grain of salt. There's a reason why Harry and Tom talk the way they do. Please enjoy, and mind the harsh transitions between POVs.

* * *

Chapter 1

Harry was very confused when he died. It was not a dreamless sleep, an abrupt oblivion, or a supposed afterlife, as one would imagine. Rather, Harry felt like he was floating in an endless, invisible sea. If he could feel his body, that is. For all he knew, he was standing on sturdy ground. There was no up or down, nor was there any color or perception of light. In fact Harry could not really tell if he could see at all. He could not smell, taste, touch, or speak.

It was a place of paradox with no sense of being. All Harry knew was that he probably died and that he could think.

And as Harry rode the invisible currents of what could have been a sea, he thought of his entry through the Death Veil. If any memories could be sharper, it would have been his final moments before the fight in the Department of Mysteries.

After Harry willingly walked to his death—after he shed his mortal coils and returned from Limbo, the battle had quickly favored the remaining Order members. Death Eaters, one after the other, fell like flies against the surging momentum of the Light, which was bolstered by Harry's apparent revival.

Once Nagini had been dealt with, Voldemort froze, white with terror, a living fear frothing from his eyes. The Dark Lord quickly fled the grounds, opting for a hasty retreat from the same wards he himself erected to keep his enemies caged at the start of the siege. Harry had, subsequently, followed right behind him, firing spell after spell in the hopes of finally ending the war. Too many had died, and Harry was sick of it.

In the course of travelling to the ends of the wards, Voldemort's mind sparked a plan, hatched through his maddened haze for survival. All his woes had started with the wretched Potter child, and they would end with him.

Thus with careful planning on the fly, the Dark Lord met his bane once more in battle. However, before that fateful rebounding could take place, Voldemort disapparated with Harry, down into the inner workings of the Ministry. As his many spies already infiltrated the building, the wards easily parted before the man, and he slipped in.

From all his many years of study, Voldemort never encountered anything quite as tenacious as Harry Potter. The boy simply refused to die or stay dead. So if he had any hopes of ending the child, then surely, it would be through something far more _permanent_ than the Killing Curse. Oh, but of course. Let the boy fall through the same veil that his godfather once did—banished from the realm of the living, and out of Voldemort's way once and for all.

Unfortunately for him, all plans, no matter how well thought out, are faithfully actualized on the field of battle. And this plan was formed not a mere five minutes ago, so obviously, Harry would muck it up beyond recognition.

One way or another, the boy learned how to perform that blasted animagi transformation. And what's more, it took me years to finally see how it was done. I didn't want to seem standoffish to 'Mione or Ron, but I just couldn't stand being so helpless. Not like the last time I was here, down in the bowels of the Ministry.

So I studied and poured myself into learning stronger spells like my mom and how to take on my own animal form like my dad. And—

Harry stopped his train of thought, the only thing he could truly exert any control over now. Really, existing here for such a long time was hard. It'd been so difficult keeping track of what happened and who was thinking what. He considered asking Tom, but he wasn't anywhere to be found. And even when he checked his mind for any signs of the man, there were none. For Voldemort had passed on long ago.

It was strange being alone but not lonely. He missed Hermione and Ron and everyone else he left behind. Yet at the same time, he was content to drift far from his mortality, from the pain and agony of living and all its terrible moments of what he had and loved and lost. He looked upon them fondly, but what was the use? He could never find that gateway back, nor could he search for his godfather. Sirius had probably met the same fate as Tom, too. Fading away to nothing.

"It isn't painful. Not one bit, Harry."

"I will always hate you, Tom."

"Not as much as I do."

Then his body fell away. When Harry could no longer punch or kick or spit back, Voldemort was no more. As a mortal man once again, there was nothing that could be done to prevent his imminent departure. It was time for Tom to leave, but not without a parting gift.

Was it altruistic of him? To give something, with no expectations of receiving anything in return? Maybe. In the final moments of existing in this backwards realm of nonexistence, I had very little to do but do so. There was nothing left for me here, so I might as well be generous to the only one whom I could ever call my equal, my mark still freshly etched on the boy's brow.

Or maybe it was selfish. As my last remaining anchors that hooked me to this place fell away, I could feel it in my shattered soul that time was short. I understood that there was little reason to fear the inevitable now, with my passing through the Death Veil, but my human instincts took hold of me in my final moments. And by acting upon them, I used my remaining time, still tethered to what would never be considered living, to exert a choice of my own.

I gave him my thoughts, my only remaining asset in this world—a world without force or reason. Little would it be recompense, I realize this. But for what use would I have for them when it would not matter in the next life? And if oblivion awaited me, all the more. My last true act of willfulness, of my self: I imparted my mind to the boy.

And it was not painful because I couldn't feel. There was no fanfare, nor any particular wailing or crying. There was no love lost between Tom and I, for I could feel the fires of his hatred boiling through my veins. But it was nothing compared to the unreality of learning, no. Of knowing things I didn't know the second before, of my mind expanding past its engrained boundaries and snapping back with expounding force. I understood his fear and helplessness during the air raids while trapped in the orphanage. The taunting and bitter resentment sparked and bled out by the children. And the wonders and pathways magic finally made for me, because, surely, there was nothing else that mattered now.

All except I am trapped, banished as it were, from the land of the living. After I had transformed into my phoenix form, and what a surprise that was the first time, I soared across to fight the Dark Lord. He raised his wand against the firebird, Harry's tucked away, and the two fought.

With flames plowing through the chamber like the flood of a broken dam, Voldemort was greatly harried by the attack. Yet the two continued, until one stepped too closely to the Veil and the other took a perishing dive, taking a chance to rid the world of a plague-made-man. As both were plunged deep past the yawning chasm of the archway, Tom's echoing words of hate were just as deafening as Harry's resigned silence in the quiet of the room.

But the fight did not stop there. When the two passed through the gate. Flames continued to burst forth and maddeningly dark spells shot on, deep into the annals of time. But time did not stop nor did it move in a world meant to exist without change. So with the addition of a foreign body, an intrusion upon the nature of this realm, things were corrected. And Voldemort's body was expunged.

Yet time was a concept outside of oblivion. So as temporal beings, Harry and Tom continued to fight and fight and fight on. It was years and seconds until they realized the lack of change around them. It was ages before they understood that there was no hope of escape as the passageway had never existed on this end of the threshold. Eventually fear fell to boredom which gave way to insanity to boredom to logic and—

"I wish I could kill you again."

"The feeling's mutual, Tom."

"But, alas, we are too late to try."

"You're insane."

"So are you."

They spoke. They traded words and thoughts and dreams, even when speech and actions no longer existed. They traded blows, so why not something more?

There was no chance of escaping one another as there was no "where" else to exist. The plane gave way to a single point, and no other space came to be except where they lay. Running away was foolish because it was a fool's errand, and circular logic was extraneous.

And before they knew it, their time together was up and Voldemort passed on (read: forced) his last gift upon Harry before disappearing to nothing. In the irony of this proxy of life, Harry was alone but not lonely. And he continued to float down and up and nowhere in the thing he called a sea but probably wasn't.

* * *

So it was all very jarring when Harry hit his head against a rock. So strange as it were, that Harry jumped immediately after in a surge of surprise, elation, and excitement. There was literally nothing else to do, so the boon of a rock was startling and amazing to say the least.

It was the color and make of a beach rock, solid and worn down by the waves, winds, and sea life. There were scratches and pits and still other places with the smooth, glossy shine of water. Harry hadn't felt anything so hard and immovable before that for a moment he thought he fallen to the center of whatever crazy, limitless world he'd once trapped himself in. But then he felt a pressure.

It was sudden and heavy and pushed down against his head, shoulders, and every other part of his body. The world darkened and Harry felt like he was truly floating. Not that facsimile of not-gravity, but honest buoyancy. Harry could feel his clothes soaked through and watched the seafloor stretch out past the single rock to unfold into sand and coral and weed before tapering off into the hazy abyss of the ocean.

Harry needed air.

Kicking off with his feet, he quickly made way for the surface, the sun's light refracted a million times off the gentle waves. His mouth filled with salt and brine, his eyes burned, and it felt so good because he'd never think he'd experience pain again. And then he breached the sea and greeted the air with a deep, soulful breath that filled him to his fingertips.

As the water drained from his ears, the muted plane produced a buzz of noises. He heard the crashing of the waves off in the distance, the din of the gulls in the sky, and his own deep gasps for air. Heart throbbing now with adrenaline, Harry took it all in. He watched the massive clouds hang and drift, the continuous and ever predictable turn of the waves and the sun—oh, the sun—beam gentle and white-hot and light up everything around him.

He was warm from the sun and cold from the ocean water, and Harry was quivering with sense and time and gratefulness. With a silent prayer to everyone he'd probably never see again or would be fated to meet once more, the wizard once trapped in time swam for the safety of land.

"What do you think, Tom? Should I build a shelter or gather food?"

"An expedition is in order. It is foolish to believe you're safe without any evidence. Search the area first, then work on shelter."

"What about water and food?"

"And what, pray tell, is stopping you from doing such while exploring the jungle?"

"Right."

The sand and detritus crunched under Harry's steps as he soddenly lurched onto dry land—firm, stable, solid—and away from the sea. After he'd made it past the hot sands of the beach, Harry had wrung his clothes of most of the water and attempted to use his holly wand. Yet there was not a blip of magic to call forth.

Harry could still feel his innate magic coursing through him like his life-blood, but his wand, his focus, simply refused to respond. It was _mildly_ distressing, but not the end of the world. Tom thought it amusing that the boy would be left without the enchantments and incantations of his magical heritage. Harry told him to put a sock in it.

And thus he travelled deeper, and came across an unusual find. It was a strange flowering plant, much like the magical variety of bulbs grown in the Greenhouses. As he approached the flowers, curious to whether potioneering was still possible, Harry considered that other form of magic that did not require a wand. He'd be incapable of producing any of the normal potions or draughts at the moment, woefully unequipped as he was, so—

"You need to stay focused, Harry. Don't get sidetracked with all these wonderful little thoughts whizzing through your head. Focus on the task at hand."

Right. Survival now, potions later.

"Obviously. And keep your guard up. Surely you've noticed the distinct lack of animals. Even the insects are no where to be seen."

"Yeah, that was sort of bugging me. What happened to them? There were gulls out at sea, weren't there?"

"Something on the island or near the general area is driving the wildlife away. The plants show no signs of decay or illness, there is no smoke or tremor to be found, and no human or intelligent hand at work. I'm unsure at the moment, so continue your search."

And as the wizard trekked farther into the forest, sand and jungle roots gave way to flat grass and solid earth. He came across a clearing with the sun shining brightly overhead. With the heat from the day, Harry's damp clothing quickly became humid and uncomfortable.

Wiping his brow, he came across a strange configuration amongst a scattering of stone. It was something of an alter, a slab of rocks augmented to piece together like a puzzle. There were no trinkets or relics of worship, nor offerings or holy sigils engraved in the stone. Yes, it was a place of religious importance, but no more. Harry imagined what it once was, perhaps a place of celebration or rite of passage? In any case, there was little else to do.

As Harry finished his inspection without a hint of reason for why the alter was there or who built it, the ground gave way beneath his feet. Thus he fell, gripped tightly by the hold of gravity.

The resounding echoes of Harry's crash to the underground cavern's floor tapered down to a whistling hiss and he groaned from the drop. His body remained unhurt for the most part, but his thoughts turned to the ethereal hum that reverberated from deeper in the caves. Dusting off his clothes, he immediately set foot into the dark.

"What are you doing?"

"Exploring. Like you said."

"Get out. Now is not the time to sate your insufferable curiosity."

"What's the rush? There's plenty of daylight still. It's much cooler down here, there's even a breeze. Doesn't that make you wonder, Tom?"

"Evidently, eternity hasn't dimmed that flare for danger seeking."

"And eternity has made you dramatic. Don't worry, Tom. You of all people know that I can handle myself."

The wizard dove deeper, the light from the crevasse fading quickly, swallowed up in the pitch dark. So it was a convenient and happy surprise to discover the way lit up by fluorescent crystals. They were of all shapes and sizes, many larger than a house. And all shared the same deep, striking green glow similar to the blaze of Floo powder or the burning of copper.

"You know some strange things, Tom. How do you know what the color of burning copper is?"

"I am over three times your age. You pick up on things. Now keep walking and stop pestering me. I'm trying to locate the source of that infernal buzzing."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that."

"Ludicrous."

The passageway was slowly shrinking as Harry continued down. Eventually, the walls came so close that he no longer had the elbowroom to stretch his hands out. He was quite worried that the entire trek was a bust. Of course, that was never the case, since the breeze was ever constant, even picking up some speed. And on the wind, Harry smelled the salt of the sea and the fragrance of wood and leaves.

The tight tunnel suddenly opened into a huge cavern. It was so large that not even the luminous crystals could breach the thick darkness that lined the walls and the ceiling. But this did not hold Harry's attention for long. Instead, he focused on the placid lake that took up much of the space before him; a gathering of mangrove-like trees lined the shores.

The air was crisp and cool against his sun-warmed skin and Harry relished the soothing reprieve. He opened his eyes and began wandering up and down the lake's edge, never getting too close to the peculiar water. There was an oddness to the ebb and flow, as if the lake beckoned Harry to enter. Hesitant, Harry asked Tom for advice.

"Tread carefully. It isn't likely to be a trap, I sense nothing afoul. But keep your guard about you."

"So, constant vigil—"

"Do not dare, Harry Potter."

Chuckling, he cautiously approached the lapping waters. And Tom immediately remarked at how strange it was for there to be waves at all, even if the body of water was connected to the sea. Yes, the water moved eerily, but for some reason, Harry didn't think it was unnatural. Like the constant motion was right to be here.

As Harry peered down into the water, he noticed how clear it was. There was not a speck of dust or sand that swirled in the currents. If it wasn't so dark, Harry believed he could have seen straight down into the very depths of the lake, and without any light, he wondered if anything was staring back at him.

"Stop that, Harry. And look at the stones. Notice anything?"

Oh, the stones in the lake. Squinting for a bit, Harry quickly saw what was wrong. The rocks were not irregular, as they should have been when being tossed against the motions of the waves. Instead, they were perfectly aligned in a great arc that likely encircled the entire lake. The sheer preciseness of the interlaced stones (or more likely bricks) was also a major point of note. Why haven't the stones chipped or eroded in the water—salt water, at that?

With great care, Harry dipped his hand into the waters, waiting for his hand to burn or some trap to be sprung upon him. When nothing happened, he gave a quiet sigh of relief and moved his fingers over the glossy surface of each straightly lined brick. When he could not remove a single one, Harry confirmed Tom's suspicions. The structure was not cracking or shifting because of magic. Here, of all places.

Harry smiled at the thought of meeting a new species of magic, greeting it for the first time in many years, or at least to what felt that way. The magic that interlaced the bricks was gentle and placid like the lake. When he tried to brush deeper into the foundation, Harry noticed the strings of magic twist together to form a brighter, solid mesh that burrowed throughout the entire system of caves, emerging where the many crystals lay about.

"How fascinating. I couldn't even trace any magic from the stones."

"Maybe the magic was no longer perceivable as magic. Once it left the crystals, perhaps it appeared to us as this green light."

"How astute, Harry."

"After all that time, it would've been a tragedy if I didn't learn something from you."

"I suppose so. But did you notice how the magic coalesces and loops back towards the center of the lake?"

"Are you of all people encouraging me, Tom?"

"Might as well. I'm thoroughly invested."

So Harry followed the strands of magic. He walked along the shore and felt his way as the bed of individual threads merged together, forming larger and larger veins and before he knew it, he was walking over the water on an unseen bridge. He could feel the liquid press of the sea against his feet, feel it bend and push back. Never once did his feet get wet, but he continued on, leaving the lights of the shore behind and began to travel towards his goal.

The center, the heart of all the tendrils of magic, pumped life through the entire system. It was far below Harry's current position, but a massive artery lay directly beneath him. He reached a small blot of land, untouched by waves or wind or natural light. The air hung with a solemn heaviness that made breathing laborious. His limbs were weighed down and Harry looked up to a mass of marble slabs laid out in the middle the small island. This was more like the alter he had dreamed up when he was still above ground.

"A bit ostentatious, isn't it?"

"You're ruining the mood, Tom."

The pieces of stone fitted well together, forming a high table and round dais that led to an erected monolith. Inscriptions were etched into the sides of the pillar, but were illegible. Moving on, Harry took note of a depiction of a woman, a goddess most likely. She was cloaked in some sort of ornamental war garb, arrows and blades and wheels laid out around her.

"This is too esoteric to be the Greek Athena or Roman Minerva. Nor any relevant goddess of war or strength or beauty. This is not a religious figure that I know of."

"It figures that this is another world altogether. So with a broad spectrum such as religion…"

"You mean to say that a convergence was inevitable?"

"Yeah. If there were many goddesses who shared similar traits back on Earth, why can't it happen on a whole 'nother world?"

"I can accept that."

Taking careful steps in avoiding any way to dishonor this nameless goddess, Harry moved away from the alter. But he didn't make it very far. Not three steps from the dais, the wizard felt a sudden spike in magic rush around him as if he was in the eye of a tornado, reaching higher into the air and deeper into the rock at once. He was trapped and his vision began to whiten. And then he was blind.

As Harry opened his eyes he never remembered closing, he staggered in place before the alter again. But now he was in the presence of another. She floated above the marble slabs with a delicate grace, her eyes focused on him.

Harry didn't know what to say or do, his lack of action prompting Tom to tread through this issue.

"Oh, nameless Goddess of strength and wisdom—"

"Do not posture. It is an insult."

The voice was undeniably feminine, but it was timeless and echoed endlessly within Harry's mind. The goddess' words simply flowed into his head, and he understood her instantly without words or expression.

Now Tom was stunned into silence. Harry took another small step back down from the dais.

"My name is irrelevant, but if you must, you may speak the name Minerva. I will not waste any more time, and so I ask for your help. This world is dying and I with it."

"You…you're dying? What can we do to—"

"Harry, stop. Goddess Minerva, was it you who pulled us from oblivion?"

"It was mere fortune that brought you to this world. I have no hand in this. You are foreign to this place, outside of my predictions, outside of my domain."

"What ails you and this planet? What could we do to restore you?"

"To avenge this world, end that which taints my blood. A monstrous being that corrodes the minds of men and beast; it led my ancient peoples to their ruin, whole civilizations turned to dust.

"To restore this world, set right the flow of life. The energies that breathe through the world's cycle are in disarray; harmony must be restored."

This woman would give Sybill Trelawney a run for her money.

"I leave you a parting gift and my blessing."

Then she promptly vanished. And with the goddess, the alter, the lake, and all of the underground disappeared with her. This left Harry in the precarious position of finding himself alone once more on a desolate hillside surrounded by night air and thick fir trees. A cold fog drifted between the fallen leaves and twisted roots of the forest and the dark sky was pregnant with so many stars that together they nearly outshone the full moon.

The beauty of nature did not stop Harry from rounding off on Tom, though.

"Why did you agree to help her? We don't even know where we are, let alone the monsters that are tearing this world apart!"

"Calm down and think, Harry. Did you realize what was transpiring?"

"We got talked into saving this world from certain doom."

"There is a reason why that figure was deified. You could feel it, too, could you not? Her power far exceeds our own. Had we declined, there was nothing we could have done to protect ourselves from her. She was threatening us.

"Furthermore, if we believe her words, this world is coming to a premature end. Since we have no alternative route out of here, we would suffer the same fate if we do not intervene. Do you understand, Harry?"

"Ugh, fine. It's like our roles are reversed. I can't believe we're actually—that you're actually up for this. The whole saving the world thing."

"It's not a 'thing,' Harry. It's called being pragmatic. I don't wish to die so soon, do you?"

"Of course not. It's…incredible. To feel things again, to breathe and speak and actually do stuff now!"

"My sentiments. Now, it would be within your best interests to scout out a safe spot to rest. Unlike the island, this place is teeming with wildlife, predators included."

Harry scanned the forest. He watched the grounds and tree branches. He noticed the large animal tracks, the scrapped tree bark, and tufts of fur. On high alert, the wizard quickly took shelter above the ground and huddled among the thicker boughs. Cold as it was, Harry's inner fire kept him warm enough and so he relaxed against the gruff cork of the fir.

"At the moment, Harry, would you please remove that bauble from your pants pocket?"

Oh, odd. There was a round clear marble, large enough to fit comfortably in his palm, stuck in the folds of his clothes.

"The parting gift, I suspect. Handle it reverently, Harry. For I fear the mighty goddess will strike us down for our impiety."

"Okay. Now you're just being rude."

It wasn't as if Tom was toeing a fine line, but even Harry was still peeved by what Minerva tried to pull. At least it was confirmed rather blatantly that the similarities between Earth and this world were closer than originally thought. A war goddess with the name Minerva? Surely it couldn't be a coincidence.

But these thoughts were neither here nor there, and Harry focused back on the gift.

There was nothing that seemed spectacular or mystical about the small orb. It did not glow that magical green light the crystals beneath the ground did, nor did it have any trace of life that emanated from within.

But not one to give up so easily, Harry tried to see if it was something more. He poked and prodded, squeezed and turned, and even tried to bite a chunk off of it to see if anything would happen. He got a sore jaw for his efforts.

"Perhaps an injection of some magic? If nothing else, then it may be a focus similar to your holly wand."

"Oh, right. Duh, I should've done that from the start."

And not a moment later, the tree split apart from some unseen force and Harry was propelled backward through the air as the space he previously occupied burst into flames.

Wide-eyed, Harry looked down to the tiny sphere and back up to the flaming branch.

"We have little control, it seems. Unacceptable."

"Yeah. I just wanted a small kindle to make a fire. To stay warm and keep the animals away. Did I really just do that?"

"Quite. Now move along, the noise and light will surely attract unwanted attention, or would you rather prefer having your legs gnawed upon?"

So Harry walked through the nightly air, the magic powering the flames dying down as its source moved farther away. Soon Harry reached an incline and began climbing up to reach a tor. Having not expected to be so high up, he seized the moment to search for any settlement nearby. Harry and Tom agreed to avoid using magic for the time being, as control was a serious issue.

The landscape was far different from what Harry remembered of Earth's forests. Here, the trees grew massive and thick. The land dipping down to form valleys and reaching up to form giant peaks shrouded in clouds. Ice and snow and green, green conifers stretched endlessly before and behind Harry. It was going to be difficult finding any towns or human structure out in the wilds.

"Pity. Then, we should sleep now and prepare ourselves for the days to come. Winter, it seems, may still linger here."

"I hope not. It'll be tough finding enough food and shelter material."

"Then we practice and hone our magic. It'll be much simpler then."

* * *

And it was. As the morning sun rose, Harry took to scavenging for wild berries and plant roots (edible to Tom's discerning eye) and hunted for small game. The nights shortened and the day warmed considerably after a few days of living on the land. Practice with hours on end, culminated in a satisfying but short repertoire of familiar spells.

Tom believed that it was for the best not to waste time on the fancier more complicated ones, as time was never guaranteed in the wilderness. Harry made use of his charms quite heavily.

One to conjure water, another to levitate. A spell to summon things and another to hide from sight. But still one of the more important yet difficult spells to learn was one taught by Tom himself. It was slightly advanced, but a spell for healing was one that even Harry quickly agreed was needed.

On the other side of magic, Harry developed four spells for the offensive. A spell to conjure fire (which was unsurprisingly powerful with Harry's inner inclinations), a curse to blast things back, a spell to addle the mind, and another to conjure snakes.

Even though he had lost the ability to speak to snakes, Harry found a great resource in Tom. Despite his lack of Parseltongue, the other was still very fluent in it.

However, during the early stages of training, Tom took immediate notice of the fact that no incantations were necessary. It was a strange twist on how to perform their magic. Perhaps a quirk of using this focus or simply residing in another world altogether. Whatever the case, Harry and Tom were thankful for the accelerated learning this lack of need for words would facilitate.

The small orb that made this all possible was always kept in Harry's pants pocket, his fingers brushing against it every now and then. It flashed different colors and warmed considerably whenever he cast a spell. It was a gift, indeed. The efficiency in which the object pooled and focused magic was far greater than what the holly wand could ever hope to reproduce.

But Harry kept it anyway. A pointless action, but it was a small token, a memento of his past life. And he cherished it, despite its uselessness.

It was less than two weeks that Harry grew tired of the day-to-day living in the forest. He'd explored much of the area for the past two days, and yet he was no closer to finding civilization at this rate. Thus, on the third day it came as a shock when he stumbled upon a ghost town.

There was hatred in the air. Malice and death and anguish. There was a massacre in the settlement and it was no more than a few weeks old now. There were no people here, but Harry could sense their bitterness as the women and children fled their homes and the men took up their axes and sickles and rocks in a futile attempt against…an army.

Bullet holes riddled the sides of the wooden homes, all empty except for ruined tables and shards of clay. In a young girl's haste, she left behind her toys, now covered in dust, forgotten. The entire town was ransacked of its food supplies. And the nightly predators that lurked in the nearby forest likely carried off the bodies, for there was no sign of moved earth or trench.

"So the first assault was by a military faction. But, no. There was also a secondary group. Not affiliated, see? The tire treads are nearly gone now, but there are secondary, newer tracks. Almost a week after the attack. Bandits and scavengers possibly. It explains much."

"I don't understand, Tom. I can tell there's some sort of military force, so an external or internal war, but nothing seems odd about the bandits. Isn't it a natural result?"

"Imagine, at the time, the town has just been purged and the military force is settled. Surely, if to continue its campaign, most of them would forge on deeper to claim more territory while the rest stayed for reinforcements. However, there is no evidence that shows that they remained. All had left, leaving none to prepare the town as a waypoint or station. This indicates that the intention of the military force is not to conquer and rule, but to sweep through and wipe out potential hideouts for resistance. They are also quite confident in their weaponry or manpower."

"Alright, so they're trying to weed out the enemy. Why not raze the whole place to the ground?"

"Conservation of supplies. It isn't proper for a general to over supply their armies during times like these."

"Times like these?"

"It's a war of domination turned attrition. Either much time has passed or is expected to pass due to siege tactics and an enemy that refuses to surrender. It's like forcing out rats from a field of crops without burning the wheat. Time consuming and, in the end, a waste of resources."

"So what does this mean for us?"

"It depends, Harry. Do we take a side or avoid the war?"

"I want to learn more about these people and this war. If we're in a time of such technology that bullets are being used, we need to be better prepared. Magic, even if it does exist here, may not be of much use against bombs or gunpowder."

So as the investigation continued through the skeleton of the faded town, Harry came across a newspaper. It was printed with characters neither could read, so Tom taught him another spell. One mainly used in translation, it was more of a crutch. It wasn't as reliable as implicitly knowing the language (written or otherwise) but it would have to do.

Suddenly, there was a crash and snarl outside in the town square. Empty as it were, Harry took the newspaper for later reading and rushed out to see what caused the disturbance.

It was a large, hairy beast. If Harry were to compare, it looked like a monstrous horse mixed with a bison. Its tusks were thicker than a small tree and its tail thrashed menacingly with black, wiry bristles.

The animal appeared to be searching for food scraps, and whether meat or plant, Harry wasn't sure. In any case, Tom suggested a quiet retreat, discontent with the proximity to the wild thing.

However, as if sensing the wizard's thoughts, the creature bellowed loudly and turned to face him. It charged and gave little time for Harry to leap out of the way, unscathed.

"Well, then. Any suggestions?"

"Burn it. The beast had the gall to attack us. And it has been a while since we've eaten something larger than a hare."

"Alright, but if the whole town catches fire, it's on you."

And then, with the clear crystal in hand, Harry let loose a tongue of flame that shot towards the raging beast. Twice he struck with the animal snarling back, its fur blackening, and on the third time, the whole animal caught fire and burned.

When the creature finally succumbed to the flames, instead of falling down as a corpse, it burst into tiny motes, millions of them, of that familiar green light. The conflagration vanished with the animal and a shiny, silver bangle fell in its place.

"Am I fated to never have meat again?"

"I'd think it'd be obvious that it was a construct of magic, Tom—"

"Sarcasm, Harry. I admit that I've been theatrical as of late, but that doesn't mean that I am no less displeased by the lack of proper nourishment our body needs."

"Yeah, me too. But don't argue with me, you know I always have the last word."

"I of all people should know. You never stay quiet for a moment, even in oblivion."

Harry bickered with Tom as he approached the singed earth. Picking up the trinket, he contemplated whether or not to just throw it away. In the end, it was decided that there was some significance to the ornament since it escaped the fire and didn't dissolve into the green motes.

The bangle itself was about the circumference to fit Harry's forearm, since he'd not fully grown before his death. However, before he put it on, Tom took notice of the small indentation on the side of the silver.

"Doesn't the circular groove, right over there, suspiciously match the size of the orb?"

"You don't think…"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Harry could feel Tom's delight and did his best to ignore it. He focused instead on the clear sphere and made his decision. The fit was tight, but it finally clicked into place and—

"How do you suppose we remove it afterwards?"

Silence.

"I…I think I would slap you if I could. I really, really want to hit you right now."

"Oh, well. In any case, we have a way to keep the orb on us more securely from now on, do we not?"

"Ugh. One of these days, Tom…"

With the silver bangle refitted on Harry's forearm, hidden from view beneath the long sleeve of his shirt, the wizard ventured off back to the abandoned town. Even after searching through the place again, there was little else to find. Thus, he took refuge in one of the cleaner homes, for once finding a decent cot to nap in.

During the late afternoon, Harry removed the wrinkled newspaper and activated the spell, the silver bangle channeling the magic just fine. The print seemed to be of an oriental nature, immediately going into a deep monologue of how the courageous Emperor Godo continued to fight against the foreign threat. The Shinra forces were currently (or as current as when the paper was published) laying siege to the eastern shore of Wutai. (1) The rest of the paper recounted the coastal townspeople that were evacuated deeper into the country to the west. And that the unique cliffs that surrounded much of the land would keep the enemy at bay.

"Most of it is propaganda, but at least we can be sure of one thing."

"And what's that?"

"In terms of time, we appear to have stepped back two or three years from our world's 1998. The newspaper was printed in the seventh month of 1993. This war began one year before that, and this town is no where near the shore, yet it has been ravaged by Shinra forces." (2)

"That still isn't a very good time frame."

"Ah, but it's a start. And now we have a lead. With nothing else to do, should we not gather more information on the two sides?"

"You mean follow the tire tracks? How do you know it'll lead to the next settlement and not a heavily fortified camp that would shoot us on sight?"

"I don't. Isn't that fun?"

"I think your stance on survival has been skewed as of late. Maybe I'm rubbing off on you."

"Hardly. I know perfectly well what our limitations are. Physical and otherwise."

"Good. Because I rather like living."

"Off then?"

"Might as well."

Harry had little desire to eat now, with the adrenaline from the earlier fight still singing through his body. So Tom had to convince the other to take some rations with him, just in case. Afterwards, Harry marched out off in the forest following the treads due north. As they progressed for the rest of the day, Harry conjured a snake for physical company and an early guard to alert him to hidden heat sources.

"Isn't it a pity?"

"That conjured snakes lack a true mind and soul of their own?"

"That, and they can't keep up a decent conversation."

"Harry, I'm shocked. Are we not holding one right now?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, it is a pity. But you know you're never alone."

"Yeah, Tom. Oh, by the way, what'll we do when we reach the next settlement or camp?"

"In either case, seek out the edges of their guard, then we will observe them from afar. Infiltration is a waste of time as we would be immediately seen as an outsider and enchantments are difficult to hold with this focus for hours on end."

"How will we gather information then?"

"Through changes in the guard."

"The Imperius, then?"

"Naturally."

* * *

On the second day of travel, Harry made great time moving through the ends of one forest and traversing through a mountain pass. The air was thinner here, the sun's heat rebuffed and reflected back by the white snow that powdered the rocky crags. Sadly, his legs were beginning to burn from the long day's walk. He bemoaned the lack of use for Apparition, since there was nowhere on this planet he'd been to before. And the island was, decided by both he and Tom, off-limits.

After climbing down from the cliff-like rock shelf, Harry was met yet again with another forest. The tire treads had to loop around the winding mountainous paths due to the drop in height, so the wizard simply cut again straight to the next line of tire marks.

These imprints were definitely more defined then what he'd come across in the abandoned village. Tom estimated them to be a little less than a week old; they were surprised by the lapse in time. The mountain pass must have taken much longer for the whole cadre to make it through. Harry was heartened by this progress and decided to push on deeper into the more temperate forest. The air was warm and jungle fruit colored the area with sharp reds, yellows and dark purples. Animals chirped, howled and cackled all throughout the trees and underbrush.

Harry wondered how long these forests had stood, probably longer than the Wutai have reigned. Plucking a small reddish fruit, he bit into the juicy flesh and savored the sweet tang. Water was never hard to come by, siphoned from the air or such by charmwork, but food was always a delight and frustration to find.

The wizard left the forest to come across a raise in the land, waist-high grass parting before the footpath that shot towards the next village. This one was also abandoned, but unlike before, there were still bodies to be found.

As expected, the nation was of an oriental nature. The clothes and body structure appeared similar to East Asian. All who were dead were left where they were executed, no mass burials in sight. Harry, having experienced some war himself and relived Tom's life, was more or less desensitized to the scene, but frowned at the state of things. He pressed on to see if any more clues could be found to understand the war.

The houses were build with both wood and stone and were more resilient to the invasion. The insides were not stolen but rather searched, as all the doors had their hinges ripped off and the furniture upturned but not destroyed. This gave weight to Tom's argument that a secondary force had ransacked the previous town.

While leafing through some pointless rambling in a journal of a near illiterate, Harry heard a sound. It was a human, but it was muffled with a cloud of fear, hate, and choking anxiety. Curious, Harry had Tom teach him a hasty locator charm to learn more.

The human was a small boy, hidden in the crawl space above the home. He was thin with frightened, wide eyes and he clutched a small kitchen knife. With practiced aim, Harry put the boy to sleep and took him down to the bedding on the ground. He banished the knife and went to work, cleaning the small cuts and removing the lice.

Once he was done, Harry _rennervated_ the youth who, while still disoriented, quickly jumped up and charged him with reckless abandon.

"You Shinra scum killed my family. I'll kill you!"

And the waif struck out with punches, kicks, and teeth. He pulled hair and screamed obscenities, and Harry did his best to settle the child down without hurting him. He was more like a cornered mouse, sharp bites and frenzied nails. At the time, he tried to placate the boy, whispering Wutaian words to comfort and calm, calm, _calm_.

The punches quickly grew half-hearted and his movements became sluggish. The boy began to heave, nearly crashing into Harry's waiting arms, and instead back-peddled to the wall farthest away. Ragged and worn, the Wutaian child clutched his own clothing like a lifeline in a roiling sea storm, neither edging away or drawing closer to the wizard. The waif probably didn't care if Harry killed him then and there anyway. The boy cried for a long time, calling out for those Harry suspected were his father and mother.

When the tears had dried and his eyes were raw and red, the child looked up, fear and distrust still floating about the waif. Harry realized that he needed to prove himself that he was no threat. So he summoned the knife behind his back, so to not raise questions, and presented it to the Wutaian, the handle first.

"I am not Shinra. I will not hurt you."

Locking eyes with each other, the child was extremely hesitant to come any closer, the fires of hatred still glowing. However, it was dampened by Harry's bizarre behavior. And slowly, he approached the knife, grasped it firmly and stepped away again, never removing his gaze. The two never spoke, the boy looked halfway between fighting and fleeing again, before he opened his cracked lips.

Nothing came out except a wheezing garble, and after clearing his throat, the child spoke.

"Then prove it. You will help me send them off. They cannot rest in peace, without fire."

A wake for the dead, then. Doable.

"I will. Will you show me to them?"

The boy quickly went out to the main road and, with Harry's help, they managed to locate and transport the bodies (mainly with Harry dragging a scavenged cart) to a nearby field. The boy had him arrange them in a straight lined configuration. Placing their arms in neat angles, and closing the eyes of those that were still open. The air about the Wutaian with thick with suspicion but wasn't much of a concern at the moment.

The boy struggled with the tinder, so Harry used a thread of magic to set a small spark upon the boy's wood.

None the wiser, they cremated the townsfolk, the smell of burning flesh blown away up to the sky. After a minute or so, the bodies began to disintegrate into the familiar green motes and rose up with the smoke and ash, the fire disappearing. (3)

It was strange. A world without the permanence of the dead being so visible. Would all dead things vanish in such a fashion? Harry and Tom talked internally as the rest of the bodies floated away. Nearing the end, Harry noticed that the boy began to shake with grief once more. Worried that the trauma may scar the child for the rest of his days, Harry whispered a call to magic.

He pulled away veil after veil of sadness that wrapped tightly around the boy's neck and voice. The horrors and fears were dulled and separated far from his dreams. The boy would have nightmares, but the ghosts of this ordeal would never again haunt his eyes or cloud his thoughts.

At the end, the boy stood ramrod straight and spoke with a hoarse, but strong voice.

"My family thanks you, stranger."

He bowed, and Harry copied his movements, sure that this was the correct form in the exchange. Afterwards, the boy didn't speak and went straight back to the house, while Harry followed behind, curious to see what he'd do.

The Wutaian child entered through a doorway and after a moment, came back out carrying some oriental robes and a hat.

"These were my father's. You should wear them."

It could be an offering as thanks. Or he might misunderstand and believe we would fulfill the role of a father to him. Decline.

"I cannot take the place of your father."

"You never will. You have my thanks only."

"Then, I accept."

Harry inclined his head and took the clothes. When he did, the boy left Harry to change. As he removed his wand and clothes in exchange for the oriental underclothes and robe, Tom alerted him to a slight problem.

"You aren't the type to get attached to clothes, right?"

"Of course not."

"Then burn the old ones. It would be a hassle to carry them around and we can blend better in these robes. And do not forget we are from another world. It would be problematic if someone found these."

Harry agreed and after slipping into his new shoes and hiding his wand, he gathered his magic. It needed to be focused well or else it might char the ground or the room. With a brilliant flash, the European clothes were quickly burned to black dust, smaller than ash flakes, and sent out the window.

Once the deed was done, Harry shifted his crisp clothes and resettled the hat he wore. It was a set meant for colder weather, so it made sense that these would be kept aside for most of the year.

The boy returned and said that he wore the clothes well and prepped the table with food (which was likely the last in the house).

Eat with him and thank him for the food.

"Thank you for the food."

The boy said nothing except for Harry to eat it before it grew cold.

The two ate in silence, the only sounds made were the clicks of clay against wood and the crunch of nuts and dried meat. Once the plates were cleared, the boy asked Harry to take him away from the village. He needed to find his mother, who had left with the others. He was traveling with her and the other women and children, but he'd felt like he was a coward when he father stayed behind. So he sneaked off and rushed back, carrying the kitchen knife his mother had carried with her.

He continued his story, his words falling like water from a broken faucet, of how he found his town in the midst of a slaughter. He was nearly caught, if not for his father who had seized him by the clothes on his back and threw him into the house. The man had begged him to hide from the attack. He did just that, and listened to the fighting and screaming and shooting slowly fade to a heavy, sleepless quiet.

He'd been so scared to come out that all he did was hide like a rat, afraid of his own shadow, and clutched the small knife like it would protect him from the soldiers with their guns and swords.

By the end of his story, the Wutaian hid his face behind his hands in shame, shoulders racked with grief. He was ashamed that he had laid his sins to bear before a stranger. Not to his mother who was surely worried for him, not a fellow Wutaian, but a foreigner!

Carefully moving across the table, Harry encircled his arms around the boy and _calmed_ him, placating his fears and doubts. He promised the small child that he would help him find his mother and the boy believed him.

"What is your name?"

My name? Lie.

"My…mother named me after my father. My name is James."

"I was named after the winds that blow from the mountains. My name is Veter." (4)

The two set off after Harry packed the food for travel. He followed the Wutaian, who trekked into the forests to the northeast, splitting off from where the Shinra army left town. He'd have to backtrack, but with less than two days of walking, he didn't think that time was a necessary issue.

As they approached a glade sometime in the afternoon, Harry felt a sudden spike of fear, anger, and restlessness. He skillfully kept walking as if nothing was wrong, and instead spoke with Tom. Yes, the Wutaians are here. No, play yourself down. Be harmless but honorable. The boy will explain…if he doesn't, then remove yourself and any evidence of your tampering.

So Harry walked carefully, the boy still in the lead. And when a group of armed women quickly surrounded him and pulled Veter away, Harry was quick to raise his arms behind his head and move to his knees.

Harry made no threats or sudden movements. As he was pulled up and shuffled back farther, he made sure to do to so without timidity or arrogance. A particular woman with deep brown eyes was suddenly in his face and it took everything Harry had not to avoid the punch that sent him sprawling into the dirt.

"First you kill Zhatva and steal away Veter. And now you return, wearing his clothes?"

Her screaming was reaching such a volume that his ears nearly rang. She must be the mother.

"Mama, stop! He is not Shinra, truly. He helped me. He didn't kill Papa!"

Veter had pulled free from the other women's hold and was now in front of the mother, placing himself between her and Harry. It was time to reassert the boy's statement.

"Mother of Veter, it is as he says. I found him among the village and healed his wounds. Then we moved and purified the bodies with fire. I am here to return Veter to you."

As soon as Harry began speaking Wutaian, the air buzzed with amazement, curiosity, and distrust, but at least the violence in their eyes dimmed. Some thoughts however were shouted so loud that even Harry could hear them. He is a spy. He doesn't have our eyes. Foreigner. Shinra.

"Please, if you don't believe me, let someone go to the village to see that I've done what I've said."

"Please, mother. I'm telling the truth."

Veter continued to plead to his mother, her hands still clenched into fists, and I'm sorry Veter, but he must be Shinra. He must be lying. We cannot take the chance.

Harry quietly pulled his magic up and directed it into the hearts of the mothers and widows. He laced it with _calm_ and _trust_ and let it wrap around their unsteady minds, filling and smoothing out the cracks that had made them bitter and broken. And gave his voice a hint of kindness.

"Please, believe me. I mean no harm. I understand your loss. I have lost my parents and friends to war, even though I am not Wutaian. I suffer as you do."

This left them speechless, even Veter and his mother had stopped arguing after they heard Harry. With their anger no longer sharp, they turned to Veter's mother for her response.

"Why do you wear Zhatva's robes? Did you steal them?"

"No. Veter gave them to me."

Her eyes turned to her son, confusion and hurt floating in her stare and her son answered.

"Papa would have wanted us to give them to James. Besides, he wouldn't have wanted them to just go to waste and I'm too small to keep them. You know how dad was when it came to wasting things… There was nothing else in the house I could have used to pay him for my honor-debt." (5)

Sadness curled up around her and she turned to Harry, a resigned acceptance.

"Very well. Thank you for protecting Veter. He means much to me."

Harry bowed and replied as he thought appropriate.

Harry remained with the Wutaian women and helped to move supplies hidden in the village to their refuge in the forest for the rest of the day. Of course, they made sure to keep him far from the children and another woman was always on guard to watch him. They were peasants, but they weren't stupid. When the sky darkened and the sun finally set, paper lanterns were lit. They were weak enough flames that they wouldn't become beacons to the enemy forces that still roamed the outlands.

Veter was finally put to bed and Harry understood his time was up. He'd overstayed his welcome; he could feel it in the air.

"Leave, foreigner. No matter what you say or do, I cannot trust you to be so close to my heart. Veter will not like it, but it's for the best you leave us."

"I know and I will leave immediately. But may I give Veter something to keep in my place, so he doesn't run after me?"

"Fine, but then you leave, foreigner."

Harry quickly moved to the side of a large tree and bent down to search for something. He picked up a large, gray stone and pressed his hands together to cover it. Silently, he called forth his magic to sculpt the stone. Tighter and rounder, chip off pieces here now there. Push out the impurities, smooth out the edges.

When Harry removed his hand, the stone was now a silver, oval disk, the sides shinning against the firelight, and a lightning bolt engraved on one side. He gave it to the woman and disappeared into the night.

"She saw you transform the rock, you know. Are you sure you won't remove her memory?"

"No, it's trifle in the long run. If she tries to tell someone, no one will take her too seriously."

"And the boy? What about him? Surely he'll question how you made the disk."

"Veter is small and too young to matter. His family works the land and they are poor and caught in a war. If the mother tells him anything, then it would only bolster his heart. It'd be a shame for him to die too early. Without a father, he'll need an anchor to steady him and the rest of the village women. I'm sure, given enough time, he'll grow into a strong leader."

"High hopes for one so young. You'll likely never see him again."

"Then all the better, Tom. I'd probably start caring too much."

However, Harry couldn't hide all of his worry for Veter from Tom. He knew he was someone who cared too much. Even after less than a day, Harry's heart cried for Veter and the others. It was hard, but he could do no more. The rest was up to them. So all Harry could do now was to hope.

The trip back to the village was speedy, and no sooner Harry was rushing out onto the roads again. The next three days, Harry spent little time talking and instead worked on his spell practice. Adding more to his arsenal was now necessary, especially when he drew so close to the Shinra military forces. More of the spells he'd used during the War came easier than most others, but there were some things that never did change.

It was with these thoughts that Harry slowly woke on the fourth day to see smoke curling over the hills in the distance.

* * *

With Harry and Tom, expect them to be morally gray, manipulative, empathetic, and honorable. A bit of a mix of both personalities, if you will. If there are any concerns that Harry is too powerful, let me lay them to rest: as the story progresses, expect a turn of fortune for our dear protagonist.

(1) If you look at the world-map of Gaia, while Wutai is on the western-most continent, the planet is indeed spherical. It is highly possible that Shinra would have the naval capacity to approach from the opposite direction. However, since it took nearly eight years for Shinra to win the war, I can't imagine them getting a decent foothold so easily on the western front. So, I've taken writer's liberties and now Wutai has incredibly tall, unscalable cliffs along the coastline. Fort Tamblin is located somewhere in the northwest. Ground forces can only be deployed safely along the eastern shore.

(2) Based on the FFVII wiki timeline. I'll be basing my story around the dates as necessary—if there's conflicting information, please let me know.

(3) I'm basing Wutaian funerary traditions (at least the region where Harry is at) on Chinese Hakka, mostly because I can just ask my grandma about her take on things. As such, ancestor veneration would have a completely different outlook on life and death when bodies end up bursting into green motes and can't be buried. Thus: cremation. I didn't try to get too detailed into the ritualistic side of things, since this is from Harry's perspective as an outsider.

(4) Tom was wrong in his assumptions, previously. Veter didn't provide Harry clothes as thanks or even payment; he did it because he was honor-bound to do so. Harry assisting him in sending on his slain brethren (for rural villages, it wouldn't be uncommon for several families to be connected via marriage—so some of those bodies were literally Veter's relatives) was very important and not something he could have done on his own at the time. While he didn't have any money and couldn't provide any services, the next best thing would be something recognized as worthwhile in his culture—his father's clothes. I know wearing the clothes of a dead man is incredibly bad luck and rude beyond belief, but let's just skip over this horrendous faux pas. Besides, I had to get Harry into some local clothing for the sake of the plot anyway. Could he have bartered or stolen something? Sure. But that's not how the story worked itself out. I might just come back and rewrite this section later.

(5) According to the FFVII wiki, some Wutaian names are actually Russian. I thought that was neat and wanted to add on to this. I used Google Translate. Obviously their names aren't in cyrillic, so these are just phonetic translations. Veter means wind and Zhatva means harvest.


End file.
